


My Inspiration

by SolarMorrigan



Series: Those 100 [20]
Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: I know next to nothing about photography, M/M, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3764851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite any agreements made to the contrary, Peter always gets his hands on the camera first</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Inspiration

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like this one's a little weak, but it's certainly happier than the last one (and the next one, come to think of it)

They all knew how to use the camera—where to point it and what angles to shoot from so as to be likely to catch any spectral residue on film.  They all knew how to operate the darkroom (the second floor bathroom, that is), knew the appropriate chemicals to bathe the negatives in and how long to let them set and how to properly clean up after development.  But when the occasion arose to actually take photos of a possibly possessed object, or of an area experiencing what might be a latent haunting, the camera found its way into Peter’s hands without fail.

This was odd, because Peter would also unfailingly embarrass the rest of the guys with the sheer volume of his flamboyance as he took pictures, shouting direction and encouragement at seemingly inanimate objects before turning the lens on his fellow busters and photographing them as they went about their work.  It was only when Egon shouted over Peter about wasting film that Peter would reluctantly put the camera back into its case and everyone would collectively agree that Peter would not be allowed to do the photographing next time.  Yet somehow, the camera was always in Venkman’s possession before any of the others could make a bid for it.

There was, however, no denying that Peter got the best results when taking pictures.  Despite his erratic behavior behind the lens, Peter’s photos were the clearest and most comprehensive of any of the guys’ shots.  “I’m not sure how you do it, Peter,” Ray said one day, glancing over a perfect shot of ectoplasmic energy release from a particularly menacing throw rug they had encountered at their latest work site, “But I’m glad you do.”

“Hey, some people just have a knack for it,” Peter shrugged, his voice warming up to his usual gloating tone, “And when you’ve been at the photography biz as long as I have, you pick up a few things.”

“The photography biz?” Winston quirked an eyebrow at Peter, “Man, you were a teacher before you were a Ghostbuster, when were you ever a photographer?”

“Okay, okay, maybe not the biz, exactly, but I’ve been taking pictures since I was a kid.” Peter put his hands up in defense.

Winston still looked dubious, prompting Peter to continue.  “ _And_ , I took a class on it when I was a freshman in college.”

“Uh huh, and that taught you everything you needed to know, right?” Winston smirked.

“Well, I don’t wanna brag…” Peter shrugged as a smile creeped onto his face.

“Then don’t.” Egon cut in as he looked over Ray’s shoulder at the shape of the ectoplasmic signature, “Although, if I’ve learned one thing about letting you operate the camera over the years, Peter, it’s that you have the ability to irritate any supposedly latent paranormal entity into full activity.”

Peter’s outraged protest fell on deaf ears, as Winston and Ray were laughing too hard to listen properly.

-/-/-

Later, Egon found himself in the garage, following the only light source in the cavernous area into Peter’s office.  “It’s unusual that I remember to head to bed before you do.” Egon commented, startling Peter from where the man had been hunched over his desk.

“Jesus, Egon, you trying to scare me into something that’ll be more cozy in the containment unit?” Peter gasped, placing a hand theatrically over his heart.

“I highly doubt your spirit would care enough to cause the amount of trouble it would take to bring us in to capture you.” Egon replied, coming around the desk to stand behind Peter’s chair, “I was actually wondering why I found you up at this late hour.”

“Late?  It’s only- past _midnight_?” Peter spluttered, glancing up at the clock, “Yeesh, I guess time really got away from me.  I’ll be up in a sec, you go ahead.”

“But you’ve peaked my curiosity now.  What could be so fascinating as to distract you from your self-proclaimed favorite activity?”

“Hm?  Oh, I just…” Peter sounded almost embarrassed for a moment, intriguing Egon further, “Talking about photography earlier, it just made me think about the class I took.”

“That was before we met.  But as I recall, you told me it gave you the perfect excuse to photograph the pretty girls on campus.” Egon replied dryly.

“Did it ever,” Peter wiggled his eyebrows at Egon, only to receive a flat look in return, “Anyway, I wasn’t lying when I told Winston I’ve been taking pictures since I was a kid.  That class just made me want to save up the money it took to buy a real camera.  A good one.”

“Now that, I do remember.  You hounded me with the thing for days before I threatened to give it Ray for spare parts.” Egon smirked, remembering the offended cry Peter had given before vowing to never leave his camera alone in the room with Egon again.

“Yeah, I remember that, too.” Peter growled, snatching up the stack of papers he had been poring over before Egon interrupted him, “Anyway, I was just looking at some of the pictures I took with that old camera.”

Peter tossed the sheaf of what Egon now recognized as photos back onto the desk in Egon’s general direction.  “Just got kinda lost… memories, I guess.” Peter shrugged, “Anyway, you’re right.  Way past time to head to bed.”

Egon, however, had already picked up the photographs and was slowly flipping through them, much as Peter had been doing.  Peter smirked and stood, pecking Egon on the cheek on his way around the desk.  “I’ll see you upstairs, then.  Put those back in the drawer when you’re done, huh?” The brunet nodded towards the open drawer of a rogue filing cabinet and Egon nodded absently and hummed his assent.

Peter shook his head and tromped up the stairs, leaving Egon behind to flick through the pictures Peter had left him with.  There were quite a few idle ones of the apartment they had shared in college, and a couple towards the back of the stack that featured the cramped office Peter, Egon, and Ray had shared in the basement of Weaver Hall.  Flipping the photos over one by one, Egon found them labeled in Peter’s ever illegible handwriting.  Some only bore the date they had been taken, while others had no date but a few words of description—“First day, new office”; “Saturday morning”; “car finally back from shop”—and others still that had both.

The ones that interested Egon most, however, were the ones featuring live subjects; namely, Egon and Ray.  There were very few that featured the three of them together, as most people were only allowed to touch Peter’s precious camera on threat of death.  More often than not, the pictures of Egon and Ray bore both dates and descriptions and Egon found himself smiling as he glanced through them.

There was one of Egon and Ray sitting side by side in a booth at a diner they had frequented in college, labeled “late dinner.”

Another of Ray with his face pillowed on a textbook, which Peter had entitled “studying.”

A series of five pictures of Egon in various rooms of their apartment, looking increasingly irritated in each, labeled, respectively: “new camera!”; “new camera, day 2”; “new camera, day 3”; “new camera, day 4”; and “Egon is not to be trusted with the camera ever”.

There were more pictures of himself than Egon remembered Peter taking, and supposed Peter somehow had to have been taking them without his notice.  There were several of him in the lab, a few of him studying at home, even a couple of him at various spots around town; some of them were admittedly very good shots, and Egon could see that Peter’s skill with the camera may actually be just that: skill, not just an excess of shots.

The last picture in the stack gave Egon pause.  It was the only one of its kind in the entire collection, and very nearly made him blush—an action he had never made a habit out of.  The photo was of him, again, this time laying on his stomach in bed, obviously asleep.  His face was pressed into the pillow and his hair was a mess.  His glasses were almost out of the shot on the nightstand and the blankets only came up to his waist, showing off his bare back to the camera.  It was actually a beautifully composed shot, with the light falling across the bed and the angle making Egon’s face look peaceful, rather than a bit smashed against the pillow.  The back had no date (though Egon knew exactly when the photo had been taken, he remembered that morning and the preceding night very well), only bearing one curious word: “Inspiration.”

Inspiration for what, Egon had no idea, though the word warmed him from the inside.

Egon pondered for a moment as he placed the photos back into the drawer from whence they came and reached across the desk to click off the lamp.  He really had no clue as to what Peter had meant by that one word, but he did know exactly where he could find out.

Mind still lingering on the image at the bottom of a stack of photos in the drawer now below him, Egon ascended the stairs and headed in the direction of his and Peter’s room, intent on gathering some answers.


End file.
